


Moonlight Sonata

by icannotevenhhh



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Piano, Pre-Relationship, but they're still heckin gay for each other, enoch - Freeform, fluffy fluffy fluff, guess who's gay, moonlight sonata is a pretty song, sorry folks they don't kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 13:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14402883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icannotevenhhh/pseuds/icannotevenhhh
Summary: Enoch was awoken very early in the morning to beautiful piano music. When he goes to investigate, he finds his heart's desire seated at the bench.





	Moonlight Sonata

It was raining, as it was every night in Miss Peregrine's loop. A gentle breeze blew over the old house and rattled bedroom windows of the bird's wards. Time seemed to be standing still as they slept peacefully, tucked up safely in their beds. Even some of the most night-owlish of them were asleep, study lamps flicked off and letters tucked safely back into their hatbox in the closet. It was calm and quiet, the only disturbance being an old grandfather clock striking two. It rang out loudly and announced the time, even though no one was awake to hear.

Well, almost no one.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his palms, Enoch O'Connor slowly crept down the stairs, careful to be as quiet as possible. He yawned softly, skipping over the ninth-to-the-bottom step with practiced ease. It creaked when it was stepped on, a fact everyone in the house knew and was very used to. It would groan loudly, and never failed to alert anyone around. It had been the cause of quite a few mishaps, especially when it startled the children. Enoch tiredly continued down the long flight of stairs, nearly tripping and tumbling down the rest, but thankfully catching himself before he could fall.

Enoch gently stepped down onto the wooden floor of the front entry hall, shuddering at the sudden cold. He blinked. Why was he down here again? It was late, and he was dreadfully tired. He should be sleeping. It was two in the morning, for bird's sake! As Enoch was about to dismiss his outing as a bout of sleep-drunken madness, his thoughts were interrupted by a gentle melody. Piano, slow and soft, shook him from his daze. He suddenly remembered:

The music. That's right, he was down here because of the music.

About half an hour earlier, Enoch had been dead tired in his room. His head drooped as he fussed around with a few clay men on his nightstand, and every so often he'd jerk himself awake. He was barely able to stay up, much less able to continue with his experimentation. He flopped heavily down onto his bed, pulling a pillow over his face and not bothering to turn off the lamp beside him. A half-formed homunculus fell from his grasp, and the logical part of Enoch knew that he would wake up the next morning with clay in his hair and all over his face, but the need for sleep overwhelmed him, and he slowly closed his eyes. He was peacefully asleep—that is, until he began to hear music.

Enoch shook himself back to the present. Across the hall, the parlour door was open a crack. A dim, flickering glow was cast across the wooden hall floor from within, accompanied by soft, beautiful piano music. The melody was somewhat familiar, but Enoch couldn't quite remember the name. Classical, maybe? Enoch crept towards the door, mindful to stay silent. There were a few floorboards in the hall that creaked similarly to the stairs, so he'd have to be careful. He already had an idea who was up, there was only one person he knew that would be playing piano at this hour. Enoch knew they were easily startled, especially at night, and he didn't want to scare them. 

He peered into the room, only to have his suspicions confirmed. 

Horace Somnusson, seated at a wooden upright piano in the far right corner of the room. A candle had been placed on the lid, illuminating the room and basking Horace's face in a beautiful warm glow. Enoch's heart began to beat a bit faster—whether it was from the prospect of being caught or seeing Horace, he didn't know. He stepped closer and leaned into the room a bit, enough to get a clearer look but not enough to be noticed. A glance at the sheet music told him that Horace was playing something commonplace, as the corners of the paper were frayed and worn in. Enoch's focus then turned to the boy seated at the bench of the piano.

Horace's eyes were half-lidded and his face was peaceful, a small smile playing at his lips. With his usual satin gloves discarded for the night, Enoch could see his hands. They were soft-looking, nails chewed down to jagged stubs—a habit Miss Peregrine has thus far been unable to break—and danced slowly along the keys with a graceful precision attained from decades of practice. Enoch thought for a moment of how Horace's hand might feel in his, but he soon pushed those thoughts away, the corners of his mouth twitching down into a frown. It was taboo for a boy to love another boy. It was wrong, sick, even. And even if it wasn't, feelings for another were a burden. Enoch had learned this lesson when he was very young, and he wasn't about to go and hurt himself by loving someone again.

A sharp, off-note startled Enoch back to attention as Horace hissed a curse under his breath. His face was now scrunched up in frustration, and Enoch thought he liked the way Horace's nose crinkled (it was cute). He began to play again, starting over from the beginning of the measure, face relaxing as the music flowed without a hitch—only to hit another incorrect note. 

Horace flinched, hissing curses louder than before. He lifted his hands from the piano—Enoch could see now that they were shaking—and pressed his palms to his eyes, leaning over to rest his elbows on the keys. Enoch flinched at the loud BRUNNN, accidentally knocking against the door. It swung open painfully slowly, creaking as it went. 

Horace looked up, eyes widening when he saw the boy in the doorway. Enoch was frozen. He'd been caught, surely Horace was furious with him now! Enoch braced himself to be scolded and told off. But instead, Horace paused, considering something, then hesitantly waved him over. When Enoch made his way over to Horace, the dreamer patted the place next to him on the bench, and Enoch sat down. It creaked under his weight, and in the back of his mind Enoch noted how just about everything in the house was old and creaky. 

"How long have you been awake?"

Enoch kept his gaze away from Horace, instead scanning the sheet music laid out before him. Moonlight Sonata, by Beethoven. That's why it was so familiar, it's classical. 

"Enoch?"

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Enoch tensed. 

"Not very long," he eventually said. "You?" 

"Since about half-past-twilight," Horace replied, his voice shaky. Enoch leaned into his side. It was something he wouldn't normally do, but he knew that Horace was comforted by human contact. It grounded him. 

"Nightmare?" Horace's expression shifted into something less calm and more broken, and Enoch laid his head on his shoulder. 

"Yes." 

"Was it bad?" 

Horace huffed a short laugh. "They're always bad. It just...varies in bad-ness, I suppose." 

Enoch was quiet for a moment. He reached over and took Horace's hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing hard. 

"Would you like to-"

"No. I don't want to talk about it, thank you. I just-" Horace's voice faltered, and he choked back what sounded like a sob. "...I don't know what I want." Enoch felt something wet fall into his hair, and Horace inhaled shakily. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you have nothing to be sorry for." Enoch said, rubbing small ovals into Horace's hand with his thumb. He was pressed so close to Horace now that he could feel his breath. 

Horace was silent. His chest heaved as he began to choke out quiet, heartbreaking little sobs, his grip on Enoch's hand tightening so much that Enoch felt shots of pain up his arm. "I don't know, I-I—I can't remember anything, I just-"

"It's okay, Horace." Enoch sat up to face him, cupping his face and gently wiping away his tears with his thumbs. "You don't have to explain yourself. Believe me when I say I understand." Enoch scanned Horace's face. He was a mess, with puffy red rings around his eyes and snot beginning to flow from his nose. It was such a big contrast from the prim and collected Horace he knew, and as he looked on, the casing around his heart cracked.

Horace squeezed his eyes shut and took a shaky breath, attempting to compose himself. Enoch offered him a small smile as a sign of his understanding, but Horace only looked at him as if he had just seen a ghost. Enoch sighed, standing from the piano bench and offering Horace his hand. "Let's go get you some tea. Or, something."

Horace wiped at his eyes. "Wouldn't the kettle wake the others?" 

"If bombs going off doesn't wake them, I don't think a kettle will."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my friends Jenna, James, and Jude (haha wow lotsa J's) and my boyfriend Sammy for being awesome beta readers and giving me lots of support! If you wanna check out more of my shenanigans my main tumblr is cosmicsodacan, my art tumblr is cosmicsodacan-art, and my mphfpc sideblog is a-tad-bit-peculiar! Later dudes :D!


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